I’m ambitious by nature. This fuel that burns my waking thoughts intertwines with an incredible lethargy, of which at present I am in submission. The past couple of years have been devoid of chasing such desires, or of chasing and failing, partly down to the lacking economy and jobs, but now it’s a horrible, stained glass habit. I know what needs to be done, I just lack the balls to do it. The strength in me is drained by my own wandering mind. Such is the conclusion of a dreary happy-go-lucky confusion. The people who surround me determine my mood, and this is something I dislike. Dependence, almost involuntarily, feeds my worst habits.
Dreams, I am personified.
Beings purvey their persistence
while I rest on gifted luxuries
amongst the mess of weekend last.
Stains scar my presence,
weakness gives birth to me.
It is hope that bridges me
to my lacklusterly pursued destine.
Sharing forever with yesterday
it’ll happen tomorrow, the skies defy
bland wishes than pollute aims so high.
Submit to masterful urges,
they rule the mind, the core of me
they degrade me, strip me of my
intelligence, make me cower and
repress. No such being achieves
their dreams. They only verb it.
Yet my day is filled with night
And I get an awful fright
At how my flight
will crash and burn
twist through nowhere, turn
with no care, landing on planes so bare.